Marie Ferrarella - Cavanaugh Or Death

Besides, she did have a point. Two sets of eyes—even devious ones as she appeared to have—were better than just one set.

And, whatever they found—or didn’t find as the case might well be—this partnership was only for forty-eight hours.

“Okay, I’m in,” he told her.

Since this man had turned out to be a human version of Mount Everest, her victory was almost heady. “That’s great! There’s only one more thing,” she added as if in afterthought.

Davis was already beginning to regret his words. “What?” he asked her warily.

“What do I call you?” Moira asked. He still hadn’t given her his name.

“As little as possible.”

Compared to this man, Malloy was starting to seem like a veritable pussycat. “I still need to call you something.”

He wasn’t hung up on rank, labels or names. He shrugged indifferently. “Pick whatever you like.”

Moira sighed. “Don’t make this difficult—I have a sister working here who can make computers sit up and beg at will. If I give her a basic description of you, she can get me a name to pin to it in under an hour. It would be a waste of her time and the department’s resources, but if that’s the way you want to play it, then that’s the way it’ll have to be played.”

Davis had a feeling she wasn’t bluffing—which he found both irritating and somewhat intriguing at the same time. He supposed, in the absolute sense, he rather liked the fact that she was feisty as hell and didn’t give up easily.

In a more practical sense, it would probably be the factor that would make him want to get his hands around her throat and squeeze—most likely in the not too distant future.

But, to forestall that eventuality for at least a little while, he decided to answer her question. “It’s Davis.”

“Ah, progress.” He didn’t miss the touch of sarcasm in her voice. “As in first name, or last?” she asked.

Rather than specify, he just said his whole name. “Davis Gilroy.”

Moira smiled at him and although he told himself that it didn’t matter either way, the woman did have a rather warm, attractive smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Detective Davis Gilroy.” She put out her hand again and this time, to avoid another potential clash, he shook it. “You’ll be working with me as part of the Robbery Division,” she informed him. “Until we find out otherwise, this case is going to be worked as a grave robbery.”

He looked at her, surprised. “You’re kidding.”

Just how had she managed to talk her superior into that? As far as he knew, there hadn’t been a single reported incident of a grave robbery in all of Aurora’s history.

He had his doubts that this was what it was, but right now he had no other explanation for it, either.

“Frequently and with aplomb,” she replied to his response. “But I’m afraid I’m not kidding this time, Gilroy.”

It was a shame that he didn’t have a seat belt to fasten, Davis caught himself thinking, because he had a very strong feeling he was in for a very bumpy ride.

Chapter 4

Davis assumed that since he’d agreed to this short-lived partnership, the woman who had waylaid him on the stairs would now step aside and allow him to pass.

But she remained right where she was, still blocking his way to the next floor.

“So who will I be talking to, Gilroy?” she asked.

She’d managed to catch him off guard—again—even though he did his best not to show it. “You mean right now?”

She noted the slight shift in his jaw muscles. Why had her question surprised him? “No time like the present. We don’t exactly have the luxury of time on our side.”

Moira realized that there were a lot of things about this detective she didn’t know. “What department are you with?”

“Major Crimes,” Davis answered. “But I thought we already settled that part. I told you I’d talk to the captain about this.”

At least, he had assumed that she’d agreed with him when he’d told her that he could talk to his captain about investigating the case. He was starting to think that assumption wasn’t a wise course when it came to Moira Cavanaugh.

Moira waved away the detective’s words. “I can sell this better than you can,” she told him. “I got my lieutenant’s okay to investigate and that wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Since he said yes, I figure he’d want me to use whatever resources I needed in order to bring this case to a swift close.”

Davis was starting to get an uneasy feeling about this. He wasn’t a rules-and-regulations kind of man, but neither did he appreciate an all-out rebel, either. He liked operating under the radar whenever possible. That wasn’t accomplished by pairing up with a rebel, no matter how short the duration of that coupling might be.

“And you see me as a resource?” he questioned.

“It’s a hunch,” she told the detective matter-of-factly. “The Cavanaughs are really big on hunches.”

This was just for forty-eight hours, he reminded himself. How bad could things get in forty-eight hours? And, who knew, maybe working together they’d stumble across something important.

“Then I guess we’d better turn around,” he told her. “Major Crimes is on the sixth floor.”

Moira looked up the length of the stairwell. “That’s three and a half flights up.”

Davis managed to keep the unexpected note of amusement he felt out of his voice. “That a problem, Cavanaugh?”

He was challenging her. She would have much rather ridden the elevator, but if he expected her to back off then he would be sorely disappointed.

“No, it’s not a problem. Lead the way,” Moira told him.

Turning sharply on the stairs, he began to lead the way to the sixth floor and Major Crimes.

Moira was determined to keep up with him. After all, she ran every morning just to keep in shape. But there was something very different about running in more or less a straight line compared to quickly climbing up the stairs at a speed Detective Gilroy had deliberately assumed.

She had stamina, but he had the advantage of longer legs. Plus she had the feeling that Gilroy did this sort of thing on a regular basis. Did that mean he was too impatient to wait for the sluggish elevator?

Impatience was often seen as a flaw by many and it gave her hope that the man she’d elected to partner up with wasn’t as much of a self-contained robot as he pretended to be.

Wanting to ask the detective a question, Moira saved her energy—and her breath—until they reached the sixth floor. Once out of the stairwell and into the corridor, she reinitiated the conversation, convinced that if she didn’t, Gilroy would be more than happy to remain silent until he was forced to speak.

She glanced down at his hand before beginning. There was no wedding ring on his third finger, no jewelry at all. Granted that not every married man wore a wedding ring, but she had a feeling that in Gilroy’s case it was because he had no reason to wear one. She highly doubted that any reasonable woman would have willingly resigned herself to a life dedicated to speaking as little as possible, like a Franciscan monk who’d taken a vow of silence.

Silence had never been her thing. Questions fairly burst out of her mouth on a regular basis. Now was no exception.

“What were you doing at the cemetery so early in the morning, anyway?” she asked, addressing her question to his back since he was still walking ahead of her.

Davis came to a dead stop.

She wasn’t prepared for the detective to stop walking so abruptly and she couldn’t prevent herself from slamming right up against his broad, hard back.

Davis swung around and glared at her. “I want to make something very clear, Cavanaugh.” He all but growled at her.